


Tactics

by just_kiss_already



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexual Roleplay, Video Cameras, Voyeurism, seems sort of dub-con but actually isn’t, that’s explained by the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_kiss_already/pseuds/just_kiss_already
Summary: Obi-Wan receives a strange delivery: an imagecaster with a very unexpected video saved to it.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/OMC, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	Tactics

The shoddy little imagecaster is waiting for Obi-Wan when he arrives at Dex’s Diner late in the evening. Dex is busy in the kitchen so instead his droid waitress FLO drops the small package on Obi-Wan’s table without a word, hurrying back to the counter as a customer waves her down. The black gauzy fabric surrounding the imagecaster is pleasingly textured and Obi-Wan rubs it absentmindedly as he studies the device. It looks so similar to the one Qui-Gon once carried, a flat silver disc with three curved arms, but more worn, nicks in the metal, a deep gouge on one arm. An unexpected thrill like an electric spark jitters in the force as he strokes a finger over the cold surface. He decides to forgo dinner.

As he pays for his jawajuice, Obi-Wan asks FLO about the person who left it for him, but neither FLO nor Dex remember much about them. A tall figure in dark robes, a human hand. A whispering voice.

Outside the diner, Obi-Wan clutches the imagecaster hard enough to leave impressions in his skin, tucked in the sleeve of his robes. Tension in the force, the sense of someone watching him. His shoulders roll in case of combat. It’s getting late, dark enough to hide miscreants but not empty the streets. Obi-Wan takes a longer path back to the temple, suspicious, but the stretched pressure of observation lessens and finally disappears. This causes him almost as much concern and he can wait to watch no longer, terrifying scenarios of people in desperate need of help running through his mind.

The projected image is grainy and flickers. It’s Anakin looking worse for wear seated on a bed. It is not a temple bed, Obi-Wan notes. His former padawan appears exhausted, shoulders slumped, swaying faintly, face slack. Dressed only in his pants and undertunic. Pain grips Obi-Wan’s heart and he frowns, worry like ice running through his extremities. They are both on Coruscant on a week’s leave from the war and Anakin left earlier in the evening on his own errands; Obi-Wan curses himself for not inquiring after the whens and wheres of those errands. 

There’s a voice, broken with static. Clipped Coruscant accent, deep, oily. “All right, darling, all set.”

Anakin lifts his chin and blinks a few times, processing. “Is that recording?” he asks, pointing at the direction of the presumed recorder. He doesn’t sound displeased or frightened, just drunk. A man enters view from the side and his hand strokes down Anakin’s unruly curling hair, petting him, and the young Jedi inhales sharply, stilling. Obi-Wan wants to cut that offending hand off of its arm. 

“Never mind that, dear. I’ve missed you. And look at the state of you, poor thing,” the man murmurs, tone lifting with suppressed amusement. “You just need a friend.” Anakin pushes against the hand like a lothcat and this time it is Obi-Wan who sucks a breath in with surprise. They know each other. Intimately, it would appear. The man moves closer and Anakin leans forward instinctively. “Always so touch-starved, aren’t you?”

Anakin drops his head and hesitates but eventually nods.

Again Obi-Wan’s heart is squeezed but it’s with self-recrimination. Would his friend be in such a predicament if he had been a more demonstrative master? If he had been warmer, kinder? More affectionate? Obi-Wan has feared attachment for a number of reasons, always tried desperately to keep his own swelling affection from stunting Anakin’s growth as a Jedi.

The projected image of the man strokes Anakin’s cheek and Anakin nuzzles against the hand with a faint whine. The sound makes Obi-Wan startle, he’s never heard him make it and it feels... forbidden. 

“Be nice to me,” Anakin sighs, moving so that he’s burying his head in the man’s dark clothes, rubbing his face against his stomach. 

The man grips Anakin’s chin, lifts his head up and swiftly leans down, capturing the younger man’s mouth in a fierce kiss. Obi-Wan can see his mouth working against Anakin’s slack one, fury starts rising like bile but then Anakin moans in the back of his throat and throws his arms around the man’s neck. The man grips a handful of Anakin’s hair and directs his head precisely where he wants it, deepening the kiss even further. When he finally pulls away, Anakin is panting, flushed, and the man laughs. “Needy thing,” he says. He holds two fingers in front of Anakin’s face and waits; sure enough, Anakin lunges forward and wraps his lips around the fingers, sucking, eyelids fluttering in pleasure.

Obi-Wan covers his mouth with his hand. To any observer he might looked shocked. They would not realize he is struggling to hold back the sound threatening to escape. A sound suspiciously like a moan of his own. He can make out the saliva dripping down Anakin’s chin despite the scan lines in the image. 

“More,” Anakin begs around those fingers. Demands, even. He flicks his tongue against the tips, looking up from under his eyelashes. Seductive. 

Laughter back in his voice, the stranger pulls his fingers away and says, “ask nicely, sweetheart.”

Another whine. “Please, more,” Anakin whimpers, shoving a hand between his legs to roughly paw at his own erection for a moment. “Please let me suck your cock.” Such filth in Anakin’s low sleepy voice makes Obi-Wan blush, pulse racing. 

The man pushes the hem of his tunic up and undoes the leathery straps at the front of his pants, loosening enough to push them down and reveal his erect cock. “All right, darling, put that pretty mouth to work.”

Anakin leans forward but is still unsteady so the stranger puts his hand on the back of Anakin’s head to guide him forward. The young Jedi does not even hesitate, he grabs a hip with one hand and the cock with the other, taking as much as he could in his mouth to the point of gagging. With the hand still fisted in hair, the man holds Anakin against him for a moment, too long really, then pulls him off of his dick so that he might have a moment to breathe. Panting, Anakin’s hips writhe on the bed, he is clearly aroused but is refusing to touch himself again. Once more Anakin swallows the man’s cock down, held firm with it too deep in his throat, gagging pitifully when he’s allowed off. 

Obi-Wan wishes he were there, he hates to see Anakin treated this way, his friend deserves to he treated gently, lovingly. He then immediately hates himself for thinking such a thing. 

Movement catches his eye, the stranger has pushed Anakin back on bed, flipping his undertunic’s hem out of the way and savagely yanking his pants off. Obi-Wan averts his gaze from his former padawan’s nakedness but it’s impossible when the man grabs Anakin’s legs and lifts his hips off of the bed. He doesn’t touch Anakin’s cock and instead buries his face lower; it takes Obi-Wan a minute to figure out what he must be doing. Anakin squirms, grabbing fistfuls of bedding, making quiet unintelligible noises. He’s clearly overwhelmed, Obi-Wan finds himself wishing the stranger would pet Anakin again, stroke his beautiful tanned skin to calm him, give him kind words of praise. 

Muffled wet sounds are audible now over Anakin’s mindless groans. Obi-Wan feels his chest tightening, he can barely catch a breath, and his dick is unbearably hard as he wonders what the weight of those long legs must feel like on the shoulders. 

“Please!” Anakin grabs at the man’s short hair, desperately trying to get his attention. “Please, I need it-“

The man pulls away, dropping Anakin’s hips back on the bed, a deeply smug look on his face. “All right, if you’re going to be impatient. Get undressed, I want you see you.” The man steps off camera for a moment so Obi-Wan is treated to the sight of Anakin pulling his undertunic off; he avidly watches every stretch and flex of muscle. Anakin lays back on the bed and stretches further, arching his back, and Obi-Wan’s cock throbs.

When the stranger returns, he kneels on the bed between Anakin’s legs and coats his erection with something from his hands. “You’ll have to ask properly, darling, I know you want to. You love this game.”

Suddenly Anakin covers his face with his arms, turning away from the camera before murmuring something quiet and muffled.

The man laughs and thrusts his hips forward a little, making the Jedi squirm. “Ask properly, Anakin.” The way he says his name, that accent, Obi-Wan holds his breath-

“Please fuck me, master,” Anakin says in a louder voice, still facing away. Grinning, the man takes hold of his own cock and guides it into Anakin, into Obi-Wan’s padawan. Anakin cries out wordlessly, reaching out until the man finally lowers himself far enough to be embraced. Anakin clings to him, burying his face in the stranger’s neck, every thrust forcing a sound out of him. “Yes!” Anakin breathes, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist. “Good, so good! Obi-Wan, please don’t stop!”

The shock that courses through Obi-Wan’s body is like lightning, it locks every limb, it wipes every thought away, renders him incapable of doing anything but watching, nearly struck dumb.

Anakin is crying but it’s from pleasure. “Master, oh, Master, Obi-Wan,” he sobs. He kisses the man’s shoulder reverently over and over even though the man appears only concerned with chasing his own orgasm. Obi-Wan grits his teeth in frustration. It should not be like this and Anakin is too inexperienced to know it. “Obi-Wan, yes, please, say it!”

While the stranger speaks softly enough that the recorder was not meant to pick it up, Obi-Wan can still hear it. “Your master loves you very much, dear one.”

Anakin thrashes as he comes, still crying, chanting Obi-Wan’s name like a prayer. 

A mechanical hand draped in a loose black robe reaches past Obi-Wan’s shoulder and turns the recorder off. Leaning against his former master’s shoulder, Anakin’s chest is solid and warm, his curls brushing Obi-Wan’s ear as he whispers, “are you up for a re-enactment, master?”

**Author's Note:**

> Anakin visits his mystery friend occasionally because he reminds him so much of Obi-Wan. But Anakin has had enough, so he makes this video in a clumsy effort to seduce Obi-Wan. Thankfully it worked. He got drunk to work up the nerve to do it and is a lightweight lol.


End file.
